


Too Late

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Hancock turns feral and Sole has to deal with what that means for them and everyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late

Maybe it was all the radiation laced food, liquor and drugs that did Hancock in. That finally turned him feral. But you know better. It was that trip he refused to let you go alone on. That trip to the glowing sea. You knew something was wrong when Hancock started losing balance. You should have pressed more when you saw Fahrenheit asking Hancock what he needed when you finally returned to the Old State House. But he said he was fine.

“It’s all good~”

So, you took his word. Even though, in the pit of your stomach everything turned at the sight of how withered the energetic ghoul had become. You expected it, somewhere in the back of your mind, you recognized the changing. Every sharp movement setting him off and how Hancock would stare off into space as if he wasn’t in the middle of a firefight. But you ignored it, wishing, actually praying, that your instincts were wrong. Just this once let your gut be wrong. But the next morning, a month later, you woke up and knew the time had come.

Fahrenheit and the Good Neighbor watch were muttering outside of the main room where Hancock always stays, inhaling his jet and popping his mentats. The doors were barred with random pieces of furniture. Calling it haphazardly placed would be an understatement.

You softly ask, “Did he…” You don’t dare finish the question as if saying the words would turn Hancock if they were untrue. But Fahrenheit’s downtrodden face only validated your worries.

You go to move the furniture, everyone parting with solemn faces and heavy hearts. They know what you intend to do. Exactly what each feared they would have to if no one stood up. Frankly, a tiny piece of them was happy that it was you and not them that would put Hancock down. They couldn’t bear it, even if they felt it was wrong for you to carry them and extinguish their fears because they couldn’t be brave.

But you don’t call it bravery; this is a responsibility. Period. In your heart you feel it was your cowardice that caused Hancock to deteriorate to this point, to become feral. He had told you he felt like he’s been running his whole life, and now your running caused what could have been beautiful years together to evaporate. To you, this is the least you can do for him.

The double door open and Hancock’s body lifts from the floor. Subconsciously, you call out to him.

“Hancock, baby?”

He turns to you and you feel your essence escape your body. Hancock’s gone. The cheer in his eyes that you slowly saw become dimmer every day has finally been eradicated. All that’s left is a hollow space. The feral ghoul charges at you, hands reaching and the flag around its hips swaying.

One bullet is all it takes.

Like a bag of cement the shell of Hancock’s body hits the Old State House floors. They creek under the sudden weight. The smell of gun powered lays heavy in the air mixing with the sick that Hancock had expelled earlier in the night before turning. Everyone leaves not knowing what to say or what to do. Saying thank you seems too cruel and saying I’m sorry doesn’t seem to be nearly enough.

 

The day passes as you idly play with Hancock’s tricorn hat and his body just centimeters away. People come with food, liquor and chems to see if it’ll ease the pain that you feel all over. To see if numbing the numbness will somehow make things alright. It won’t. The only thing that would is to rewind time and tell Hancock to stay as far away from the glowing sea as possible.

Finally, no one can take it anymore. The stench is vile and that’s coming off of you. Fahrenheit knows it’s harsh to tear you away but it isn’t doing you any good. You’ve barely eaten or drank anything for the past two weeks. At this rate you’ll be knocking on death’s door in two days time.

“Y/N, it’s time.”

You nod to Fahrenheit and ask for one minute. She leaves, understanding you need to say your goodbyes. You hold Hancock’s hand and pull out your spouse’s old wedding ring. With trembling hands you place it on Hancock’s ring finger.

“I know this is much too late but I wanted to give this to you. I..” The hot tears glide against your cheeks and the lump in your throat momentarily stops your speech. “I just want you to know that I meant every word I said. I am incredibly lucky to have met you, to have become friends with you, and to love you. I know people saw us as a walking freak show, the mayor ghoul from Good Neighbor and the Vault dweller from 200 years ago, but it was our show. And it was magnificent while it lasted. I just wish we could have spent more time together, kicking assholes around and sharing some sweet highs.”

You lightly kiss Hancock’s cheek before the watch takes him away. You don’t know where they take him and quite frankly you don’t want to. Because he won’t be there. He’ll be here, in the State House, in the streets of Good Neighbor, in the hearts of everyone. That grave is not a testament to him and you won’t pay any respects to it. You’ll respect, love, and care for where he continues to live on: Good Neighbor.

With his tricorn hat placed on your head you exit to the balcony. The town is lively, filled with people from every corner and creed. You address the masses.

“I’m your new mayor.” Grumbles fill the streets. New leadership means new rules. But you quickly silence their fears. “This place, Good Neighbor, was made great by John Hancock and I intend to keep it that. This is his legacy and anyone who dares try to tarnish it will be dealt with in a manner that would make Hancock proud.”

The growing crowd’s previous discomfort ebbs away and they look at you with wonder and hope. So you say what they’ve been waiting to hear again. For the first time and for many years to come. 

“Of the people, for the people!”


End file.
